


Starships and Soulmates.

by MillsFrancis



Category: Starship Promise (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 03:57:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16885203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillsFrancis/pseuds/MillsFrancis
Summary: The Universe makes plans for Atlas.(Likely to become graphic and explicit, hence the rating.)ON HIATUS





	Starships and Soulmates.

**Author's Note:**

> Starship Promise soulmate AU. Kind of follows the plot of the game in Atlas’ route. I’d recommend reading it so I make sense, or just because it’s good. I might add more of the supporting characters later.

As a boy, Atlas had never given his soulmate much thought. The timer on his collarbone had twenty-seven years to count down; ages for a small child to wait. He knew not everyone had one, and his parents had tried to convince him that it was important that he _did_. On some level he supposed he understood. The idea still seemed far-fetched. Someone in the vastness of the universe was the person he was supposed to fall in love with? To spend the rest of his life with, over anyone else, just because of a countdown that nobody knew the exact origin of? There were so many unanswerable questions that made him sceptical. What happened if she died before they met? What happened if she died after they met? What if he met her and they couldn’t stand each other? If he fell in love with someone else before they met? Or after?

People without soulmates had to have the better deal. Supposedly a soulmate was a guarantee, but Atlas’ parents weren’t soulmates and things had worked out fine. They loved each other enough for him to come about, anyway. It brought him a little comfort to know that he could find love ‘naturally’ should something go wrong, though his parents pushed him not to think like that. In any case, he’d been taught that he wouldn’t have to search for his soulmate. Meeting them was something that would happen no matter what he chose to do with his life. So long as they were both alive, they’d meet when the timer hit zero. There’d be a light burning sensation surrounding the numbers to make sure it wasn’t missed, and whoever was his ‘other half’ would experience the same. Simple enough.

Nevertheless, Atlas’ parents despaired when he joined The Union at eighteen. They said it distracted him from his journey to his soulmate. He’d never admitted they were correct to assume he was deliberately avoiding it. Flying, he didn’t have to take any notice of the numbers. None of his comrades cared about soulmates, or if they did they never let on. Hell, Atlas didn’t know if any of them had one. It wasn’t ever the most important thing they were dealing with, except on the rare occasion someone found their soulmate. He heard about that a handful of times - prompting the briefest of checks on his own ticking clock. Every time it would be dutifully counting the seconds as they passed by.

Even when Atlas’ war career took a turn for the worse; when his opinion on The Union began to change, the digits glared back. It became an irritation; passing too slowly at some points in his life and far too quickly at others. In the times when he was by himself - drinking in his bunk - the digits often blurred together. It should have been a comfort. The confirmation that he wasn’t alone in the world. That, at such an uncertain point in his life, someone out there was waiting to meet him. Atlas just felt the increasing pressure of the impending meeting. The clock reminded him more of a measure of his life accomplishments. In his misery it looked as imposing as a countdown to his death would have been. How could something zeroing in on a meeting so talked about be anything other than maddeningly overwhelming? Of all the feelings and emotions the clock had brought, excitement had never been one.

Shame, he found, was new.

The mission had been a catastrophic failure. A whole squadron shot out of the sky by The Empire. It had taken less than moments. Of course he didn’t blame The Empire for attacking in a war. They’d been opponents of The Union for longer than he’d thought either of them could be doing the right thing. Longer than he’d been alive. No, he didn’t blame The Empire. As Falcon Leader, he blamed himself. It wasn’t the first shitstorm he’d been in by a long way but it should have been his last. It should have killed him like it killed the rest of them.

His comrades.

His teammates.

His friends.

The loss was crippling - deserved more than death, clearly. Or so Atlas’ mind convinced him in his discharge. Accepting it as his punishment pushed him to hold onto his sanity with his fingertips...The bullshit medal nearly tipped him over the edge, if he was honest. An award. For surviving the insanity The Union had brought on themselves. An accolade for living when others had died. As if that was something he should be proud of and not something that was eating him from the inside. As if it wasn’t a crushing weight sitting deep in his stomach, or a smothering guilt monster that he could only attempt to drown in whiskey.

The timer becomes so unbearably mocking that Atlas can’t look at it. Whoever is unlucky enough to be his soulmate hardly matters. He won’t subject her to life with such a disastrous human being. Adamant refusal doesn’t stop the muted pain in his heart when he notices the numbers have stopped. They’re flashing red and he is sure the desperate warning would cause him a more urgent pain if he wasn’t so numb. They’re greyed out, fading and then gone. Atlas pours another shot or three in mourning, and ends up drunk on the floor a little earlier than usual.

 

Desperation pushes him enough eventually to get a ship. He can’t spend any more time stuck on the ground. He needs to leave. Ideally he needs to leave life, but he’s still too cowardly for that. He doesn’t know what’s keeping him tethered to the universe, but the freedom of a ship will have to be good enough.

The cargo ship isn’t similar enough to bring up bad memories, and she provides the reprieve that he needs. And if piloting drunk means he dies in a fiery crash, maybe that’s just the universe finally catching up. Whatever’ll happen, Atlas makes a promise and names his ship in one swoop one evening. No more fighting. He’s not fighting anyone else’s battles anymore. Maybe it’s an overly sentimental name, but it’s grounding. The Promise is tangible even when the rest of the world is clouded with alcohol. She’s more sound than his own mind, and so Atlas keeps his word.

He keeps his promise unwaveringly as he bums around the universe; not fighting for or against The Union or The Empire. It’s why he doesn’t immediately abandon the kid who turns up one day. Orion. Fleeing service to The Empire, and a hell of a lot more they leave unsaid. Atlas would have to be daft not to recognise their similarities. He tells Orion he can tag along till they reach the next neutral planet. Evidently Orion decides he’d rather stay and Atlas doesn’t object strongly enough.

As it turns out he’s grateful for the kid when Jaxon arrives with armfulls of credits, running his mouth and in need of a ride. They both owe something to Orion’s level-headed negotiations.

Nova crashes into them one day. That’s all Atlas remembers. She’s been around ever since.

He isn’t sure when or why The Promise started to look like the best alternative for the three of them but he finds he doesn’t mind as much as he thought he would. He isn’t sure, either, when it became clear he wasn’t the Captain of his own ship...or when he became so indifferent, but it’s possible the two are connected. (Orion’s much better at rousing speeches.)

They settle into a lifestyle somewhere along the way. Atlas is mostly a taxi for Jaxon’s bounty-hunting exploits. The credits silence his complaints for the most part. The three of them make a good team, he’ll admit. Jaxon’s mouth, when not spouting ego, makes deals with practised ease. Nova’s superhuman assistance quells more than a few fights before they begin and swiftly ends most others. Orion keeps their ragtag group from stumbling across any problems too big to handle, even when they pick up ~~the space rat~~ ~~~~ ~~~~Comet.

And Atlas? Atlas stays on the ship. Always. Whether it’s fear or disinterest that keeps him rooted to The Promise isn’t something he allows them to discuss. Thankfully, they never press the issue. It’s something he’s grateful for, actually. The nature of his apparent crewmates. He knows a little about each of them - immediate family, their reason for being on his ship and a smattering of other personal details he’s picked up in time. They know the same about him, but it’s enough. None of them have ever pushed for more than he wants to tell them apart from Jaxon testing the waters once in the early days. They keep things simple. Orion’s a former Empire punk, Jaxon’s a bounty hunter, Nova’s a superhuman, Atlas is a former Union pilot. They know why he left, sparing the details, and that’s enough. They get on with each other and they get on with life and Atlas is kept in just enough trouble. There’s no time to drink himself silly on the regular, what with all the evasive flying, but he’s keeping his promise. No more fighting other people’s battles. And each day is a little easier.

Unfortunately for Atlas, the revelation of his soulmate comes when they’re all together in the lounge. At thirty-four he’d figured he was done with that mess, but Nova points it out. His jacket is unzipped enough for her eyes to catch sight of his collarbone. Orion does little more than raise an eyebrow and for a moment Atlas thinks he’ll get away with a simple explanation for Nova’s sake. Jaxon, as usual, is more vocal. He looms over to get a better view.

“You’ve got a soulmate? Our favourite grumpy space pilot’s got a soulmate!” he grins at the rest of the crew over his shoulder; ignoring Atlas’ grumbling threats about the airlock and the fact that he had _had_ a soulmate.

“Six days left. Excited?” Jaxon’s teasing but he has Atlas’ full attention now. Six days?...It takes an age for his brain to catch on and his hand to fly up to grasp at where the numbers used to sit.

At where the numbers _do_ sit.

Atlas bolts. Scrambling down hallways, he’s thrown off his jackets and shirt for a clear view of his chest in his bathroom mirror. The sight that greets him drains the tipsy rosiness from his cheeks until he’s almost sickly white. Shaky hands grip the edge of the counter. The erratic thundering of his heart sounds in his ears; violently contrasting the steady passing of time displayed near his shoulder. The clock glows faintly - not the devastated red flashes from before. It looks like it did when Atlas was young. Reliable. Perfectly natural, nestled under the curve of his collarbone. It’d be reassuring if it was supposed to be there.

Six days? He couldn’t place when it had re-appeared and now he had six days? To do what? Walk around in a daze, firstly. Six days wasn’t nearly enough time to prepare, if he even knew how, and it was still agony to have to wait so long. He feels like a child again. Filled with anxieties he hasn’t allowed himself to acknowledge in years. They hang around with a vengeance; angered by being shunned and ignored. Insulted at being drowned in alcohol for so long. Orion’s convinced Jaxon to delay any particularly risky bounties until the days have passed but it does little to relieve the thick tension Atlas carries with him. Whilst the others remain in fairly high spirits, he’s doing everything he can to keep from throwing up.

Six days.

The voice in his head repeats it like a mantra.

_Six days. Six days. Six days._

It adjusts with each passing of twenty-four hours until it’s screaming at him in terror.

_**Two days. Two days.**  
_

He’s managed not to get drunk so far but knows he must look dreadful anyway because Orion pulls him discreetly to one side.

They talk it over. Well, Orion talks. Atlas communicates in still stunned grunts and stunted sentences. The Captain convinces him it’ll be best to not be able to see the numbers. Their impeccable timing is practically lasered into his brain already. He doesn’t need the physical reminder. It won’t do him any good to be able to check obsessively. Once Atlas has sworn he won’t peek Orion wraps the shoulder in a bandage. It’s such a small gesture but it works. Atlas doesn’t relax, but he does stop inspecting the time in every reflective surface he passes, and the most prominent tension leaves his shoulders. The bandage removes part of the urgency from his thoughts and he feels slightly more sane. He’s able to think. To really think about the next few days.

Deciding it’d probably be considerate not to look and smell like a drunken space bum, he moves into the bathroom. Showering and shaving help him feel more human as he continues to turn the approaching events over in his mind. It’s the unknown, he knows, that’s scary. Too many years sit beneath his belt for Atlas to be excited about the unknown. He’s too experienced. Too knowledgeable. Not innocent enough to believe that the universe is full of wonder.

But who is his soulmate? Is she like him? Bitter and jaded and settled into the life she leads now? Or is she...not? A large portion of Atlas remembers how he felt about his first soulmate. He still hasn’t worked out why he has a second chance but his opinions haven’t changed. He can’t stifle someone who holds joy for the universe. Not even if they’re the person he’s supposed to spend his life with. If she’ll be better off elsewhere he won’t allow her to stay. That’s likely to be the outcome. The life he’s stumbling through is anything but stable, and what are the odds that his soulmate is as eager as his crewmates to jet into space and never have a normal home?

Forcing his wonderings away from the specifics of his soulmate, he thinks instead about how the whole thing works. No one knows for certain. A lot of what’s accepted as truth is in fact still under discussion. A whole life event for half the population; left to speculation. It’s inevitable that they’ll meet, at least. Unless one of them dies in the next thirtyish hours they’re going to meet.

_Maybe she’ll die._

Atlas muses. He’s aware the bluntness would shock anyone else, but he’s speaking from experience. There’s every chance one of them will die. Maybe he’ll crash their next landing on a colony. He could even hit her with the ship. Two birds, one stone and all that. There’s never been a guarantee they’ll know each other for longer than it takes to meet.

None of this is comforting so he shifts his thoughts again.

Why did he get another shot at all this? Was it because of what happened to his first chance? Given the timeframe it’s entirely possible she’d died because of the war. In something similar to what should have killed him. But this ‘second chance soulmate’ - how much younger is she? A quick network search tells Atlas not everyone who has a clock is born with one. Occasionally people develop them when they make a decision that sets them on a path in life. That’s a relief. Whenever the new one appeared Atlas guesses he can’t have been younger than twenty-nine; a hell of an age gap if she’d just been born.

Soon after that he forces himself to stop thinking before he gets in too deep. He knows all he needs to. She’s alive, currently, and he’s not old enough to be her Dad. The rest has to wait.

 

There’s got to be around fourteen hours left when they dock for supplies on the colony. Olympus 7. Obediently he hasn’t looked under the bandage Orion put on, but he can guess. The rest of them depart at some point into the streets; scouting out parts, food and anything else they might need. Atlas stays onboard The Promise. They all know it’s today. Jaxon’s very clearly been fighting comments all day. Atlas is grateful for the isolation even more than usual. He takes the opportunity to enjoy a shot from his Pilot’s Chair Whiskey; kicking his feet up on the console in an effort to convince his stomach he’s calm. It’s his first drink in days but he hasn’t had space in his brain for withdrawal symptoms. Too full of apprehension. There’s just enough brain space now to wonder about how things will happen. He won’t leave The Promise. It’s taken too long to assure himself that being on familiar territory will give him any kind of advantage and he still knows he’s lying. He guesses he wants the crew to be back beforehand. Rather that than come back when he’s halfway through. Especially as whenever they return suddenly they’re accompanied by some form of angry authority - overwhelming for his poor soulmate. She’s unfortunate enough without being caught in crossfire within ten seconds of meeting him.

 

An hour.

By the time Orion, Nova and Jaxon have returned and Jaxon’s detangled Comet from Atlas’ hair, he reckons he’s got about an hour. Orion doesn’t give any orders to lift off - a wordless agreement between the two of them. They’ll stick around till the evening, just in case. In case of what, he hasn’t asked. If it doesn’t happen within the hour it’s not going to. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he heaves a sigh and sits back in his chair once the crew’s dispersed further into the ship. The Pilot’s Chair Whiskey is back in his hand; an almost pathetic if not troubling comfort he’s overly dependent on. Slowly, Atlas thumbs the neck of the bottle. Strangely he wouldn’t say the amount of dread he feels increases as the time goes by. He’s reached peak panic levels. His hands are steady (Pilot’s nerve) and his heart thumps carefully in his throat. Nothing unusual lately. An alert beep from the console pulls Atlas from his musings. He’s halfway to pouring himself a shot but allows his eyes to flick over to the screen.

**Security Breach.**

Atlas frowns. His free hand pulls his pistol from its holster at the tinny sound of footsteps approaching the bridge. A single set, light and nervously hurried. Whoever it is, soulmate or not, the threat doesn’t warrant calling the others. Instead he levels his gun at the door and allows his lips to drop into their natural frown.

That’s how he is when a young woman appears in the doorway. She freezes, deer-in-headlights style, and gapes at him. Atlas’ jaw twitches at the start of fizzy pain fluttering along his collarbone. Hopefully he comes off no less serious for the surprise he’s feeling. His brain is stuck somewhere between ‘ _No._ ’ and ‘ _Of course._ ’ It flops between disbelief and ridiculing himself for thinking it could happen any other way. Why wouldn’t he meet his soulmate at gunpoint?

The fizzing sensation flares across his shoulder - burning enough to ensure he takes notice. The girl, somewhat worryingly, doesn’t seem to be having the same trouble focusing. Atlas finds himself hoping she’s too distracted by the gun. She hasn’t spoken yet so he prompts her.

“Who are you, and what are you doing on my bird?”

She doesn’t reply. He hasn’t looked properly at her yet, but she’s young. Maybe ten years his junior. He speaks again to hide the lump in his throat.

“Cat got your tongue?” His voice is even-tempered but her hands fly up in surrender and she stammers anyway. If she were anyone else it wouldn’t matter. Any other intruder _should_ fear him. Enough to get the hell off his ship. But she’s not just anyone, is she? She’s the reason for the pain in his chest and that’s the reason for the hesitance in his trigger finger. Inevitably he doesn’t get enough time to reflect before a Union uniform comes to stand behind her. She hasn’t noticed. Atlas shifts just enough in his seat and...

The shriek she lets out at the blast reiterates how young she is. How unprepared she is for living anything close to the life he does. It causes him to try and be a little gentler now her Union shadow has fled before Atlas shoots him. He gives her another chance.

“You’re not wearing a uniform, so you get ten seconds to explain yourself.”

 _‘Not remotely close to the main reason, but okay._ ’ his conscience scoffs.

Even as he lowers his gun she struggles to form a complete sentence and Atlas has to swallow the frustrated growl when Orion, Nova and Jaxon burst in armed to the teeth. It’s only the presence of a more immediate problem that pulls him away from the girl. Orion wouldn’t interrupt with anything less than acutely important, even if being blasted to dust by The Union isn’t exactly new. Frankly, though, the teasing small talk the others make with their ‘guest’ is pointless. They go on as if the reason she’s there isn’t painfully specific. As if they’ll do anything other than accept her onto the ship and follow Atlas’ direction.

Amongst the hostile fire and frantic takeoff he sees her relax. Odd. Perhaps she feels safer with them than out with The Union. That’s more understandable. Or, she’s finally noticed the pain in her chest that Atlas is increasingly hopeful she does have. The thought that she doesn’t, that she’s not who he thinks she is, scares him...but not as much as the knowledge that she _is_ the right person and he’s now trapped in The Promise’s too limited quarters with his soulmate.


End file.
